


Contrast

by Kit_SummerIsle



Series: Luck of the Draw [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, M/M, Seal-Breaking, all consensual, ideal society AU, luck of the draw AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-10-26 21:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10795257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_SummerIsle/pseuds/Kit_SummerIsle
Summary: Classes and castes are abolished in this AU, but nobles are still hoping for mentors from their own level. Mirage is from one of the noble families - and he gets a decidedly strange mentor. It's an educational experience for him in more than one ways...For a tumblr prompt byeerian-sadow: Wheeljack/Mirage – class divide





	1. Party Night

**Author's Note:**

> Both Wheeljack and Mirage is closer to their G1 selves than the later ones, since I don't know those as well - and to be honest I couldn't have justified the existence of the Wreckers in this AU. So Wheeljack is a slightly crazy inventor (who is accidentally doesn't like nobles much - I imagine him to be a staunch democrat, bordering on socialist) and Mirage is a noble.

It was a night of parties, of celebrations and happiness all over Cybertron and its colonies. Excitement and expectations, wild guesses and amazing surprises – the once-a-vorn event was sure to make every mech take a day or night off and find a party somewhere. Even those too old or never chosen as mentors went somewhere to have fun, because it was just too good to feel all the youthful excitement and energy that was abound this night. Most cities or districts had a community party for the general populace, but some restaurants and clubs also hosted smaller ones for other tastes – or for those who didn’t like the huge crowds of the public events. Public gardens were also a popular place for groups of younglings and their friends, while in the various colonies other, sometimes strange customs grew and spread to spend this night.

And then there was always a party which was held in one of the Palazzos of the Glimmering Heights, hosted by the highest ranking noble clan in Iacon who had a Heir coming of age… but these were definitely not open for the public. This vorn, it was the Blue Crystal Palace holding the ball, home for the Shining Skies clan, the eldest among the nobility as it still existed. Much as the reforms since the Second Era had taken away the prerogatives and privileges of the noble class, subjecting them to the same taxes and laws that now governed every citizen on Cybertron – but virtually nothing could delete the less governable but still very much existing snobbishness from those calling themselves nobles. And so, Mirage’s family held this vorn’s Coming of Age ball and every young noblemech in Iacon made sure they attended it along with their families and relatives, to be there, to show themselves and celebrate _his_ coming of age - while the rest of the classes were free to choose their parties however they felt like it.

Mirage secretly envied them. Average mechs seemed to have a lot more freedom than he had – the less formal privileges were accorded to the noble clans, the more they held onto their own private traditions and rules. It seemed that they raised the newer generations to counteract their compulsory studies in public schools where every class, mech and frame was equal and accorded the same respect as their own. Mirage loved the Iacon Public school that he by law had to attend – it was as high quality as no snobbish noble could fault it for, while it catered for a lot more classes than the few noble younglings. And while there he did not have to have a chaperone, a guard or any of his relatives worrying about him being… what, hurt? There was virtually no crime in Iacon any more, the few bar-brawls that still happened usually held the public interest for decaorns, they were so rare and unusual. So there was really no reason for a guard to follow him – and report his behaviour to his Sire besides – while in that school. It had given him freedom not just to learn and study what he wanted, but to talk with mechs who had to work for living, to go out to simple places and have a cube with friends without being noticed and singled out…

All of what ceased once he finished the school and started to work in the clan’s firm, in the board of directors naturally, not at the bottom - learning to eventually take over the business. He was once more the Honorable Heir and not ‘hey, Mirage’. Mechs once more bowed to him silently and stood aside when he went by and not invited him for a cube and a chat. He was once more cut off from the rest of Cybertron and forced to live in a bubble that was all about accumulating wealth, refined interests and possible bonding contracts. It wasn’t exactly that he complained – Mirage enjoyed refined fuel, the luxuries of the palace and high-end entertainment as much as any of his fellow nobles… but sometimes he still remembered the freedom of his school-vorns with nostalgia. But he was too well bred to show it of course.

“I am honored that you could attend, Lord Trask, Lord Steinwall.” Even the precise angle of his slight bow was specifically calculated according to their respective ranks and the relation of their clans and any deviation from it would cause a loss of face. “My Sire and myself welcome you into our halls.”

“The honor is entirely ours, Lord Mirage. We wish you a proper and worthy match for tonight’s draw.”

The visiting clan lord’s creation flashed a small smile at Mirage which he reciprocated – the youngling was clearly more nervous than he tried to show. So was Mirage to be honest, but he would never let anymech see it in his expression. Ever since the reforms, nobles didn’t have the privilege of being matched to a mentor within their own class and it started to become something of a sport to try and trick the matching computers, to try and influence the committee… just to have a so-called proper mentor, meaning one that was a fellow noble or at least someone of fame. All in vain though, as the system was very nearly tamper-proof. Secretly though, all nobles, all noble clans hoped to get the Prime as a mentor for their Heirs, at least if one asked the clan-leaders and the elder generations; among the young mechs though, Sentinel Prime was quietly rumored to be a… less than stellar mentor. 

“Likewise, Lord Trask.” He answered with an elegant nod.

Mirage didn’t have a firm opinion on it. He hoped his own mentor was to be a noblemech – but more for his Sire’s sake than his own. It would prevent uncomfortable arguments and a lot of grumbling about the ‘new ways’. He also hoped for somemech from a distant city so he could travel and not have to justify it with business to his Sire. Travelling was something he really enjoyed, even when it was a must and not for fun.

The gentle music coming from the balcony picked up volume as the elaborate hall filled with mechs and noise and Mirage made another round of the guests, exchanging a few polite words with each guest and each noble youngling, standing in for his Sire, whose failing joints were not allowing him to appear in public any more without unseemly walking aids. Covertly he checked the time – there was plenty of it still before the announcements started – and headed towards the laden tables for a bite or two and the inevitable talks about inconsequential things. 

Two joors later Mirage was starting to feel the strain from forced and stilted conversations with the increasingly nervous and expectant guests. He was sick to death from the same thing repeated all over every conversation – that of a proper match for their Heir or themselves. One would think it was a matter of life and death listening to some of the guests. Mirage shook his helm after he left one particularly annoying clan lord to his overblown expectations, escaping to a dance with his Heir. Even Lord Sunsail snickered at Mirage and his smile held an unsaid apology for his Sire. 

Naturally, nobles didn’t keep the specially issued datapads in their subspaces. They were instead held by their servants, who, when the announcement came, wrote it out on a fancy metal plaque and presented it to their employer on a silver platter. The klik Mirage saw the first such plaque being brought into the ballroom, his vents fastened slightly. His dance-partner received one of the first plaques and Mirage was happy to see his wide smile and the satisfied nod of his Sire.

“It’s Lord Diamant!”

“Congratulations, Lord Sunsail. It is wonderful news.”

“Thank you! I know him, we’ve visited Praxus once and we’ve met!”

“That is even more wonderful.”

Mirage made a circle around the ballroom, congratulating to those who looked happy with their mentors and dropped some sympathetic words for those who were disappointed with it… and glanced more and more often towards the entrance where his own servant had yet to make an appearance. He wasn’t getting nervous, at least not outwardly.

“What about you, Lord Mirage? Still no match?”

“Not yet, Lord Ne…”

“My Lord?” his servant appeared by his side at that very moment, holding out the silver platter. A small cable by Mirage’s optic twitched minutely. The servant did not look happy, like one bringing bad news. Mirage took the small metallic square and without hesitation he read the designation.

“Wheeljack.”

If there was a noblemech on Cybertron by that designation, he wasn’t aware of him.

“Any info on him?”

“Lord Mirage… he’s… a scientist. Inventor, it is said.”

Mirage lifted both brow plates. “An… inventor? Of any fame or renown?”

“N-no, Sir. We couldn’t find any…”

“Where from?”

“Thrax Town. Small settlement by the Tagan Heights.”

 _‘So a nobody of nowhere.’_ – Mirage only dared to say those words inside, where nomech would hear it. His lips tightened into a thin line. His Sire will be so… so angry. 

Mirage went on the rest of the party on automatic, accepted the condolences – _for Primus’s sake some of them acted like someone had deactivated!_ – and made small talk with more fortunate young mechs, his compatriots. Designations were thrown about proudly or whispered quietly, mentors and qualities were debated, politely, of course and some past stories pulled up about some of them. At least none was about his… inventor. A scientist in itself wouldn’t be so bad, but try as they might, Mirage’s servants couldn’t find any fame for this particular one.

After the party ended, well into the early joors of the morning, Mirage was just tired and wrung out – and the inevitable meeting with his Sire that he put off, but couldn’t avoid made him annoyed too. No, he wasn’t going to appeal. No, he wasn’t going to contest the match. No, there was no need to utilize his Sire’s connections, because the next orn he was going to contact this Wheeljack, and arrange their meeting as fast as he could. In the end, Mirage was just adamant to oppose his Sire and not because he so wanted this mech. If he was honest to himself, his Sire’s haughty disdain was making _him_ uncomfortable. But his Sire could also be stubborn, as Mirage soon realized…

“No, I will not let this… nomech into my Palace! Hire a room or use one of the summer cottages!”

Fine. If he was like this, then Mirage could be equally stubborn.

“No. I’ll go to his place.”

“What?”

“Since you don’t want to see him or even know about him, you leave me no choice, Sire.”

They parted in anger, for which Mirage felt sorry, but not too much. The Elder’s unreasonable prejudice was getting on his nerves. He sent a short message to Wheeljack, announcing that he could be in his town the next orn and got a short, terse answer affirming the mech’s availability that almost sounded like an automatic answer… it was a bit strange, but then, not all mechs were verbose, so Mirage just shrugged and took it in stead. The next orn, ignoring the various luxury vehicles and transports the clan owned in abundance, he booked a ticket to the regular, public shuttle to Tarn, where he would change to a speedtrain to Thrax. 

The travel was entirely uneventful, though Mirage secretly enjoyed the normalcy of the other travellers’ conversations after the overblown party and its inane, empty chatter. Even on the first class, there were more businessmecha than nobles and since he wasn’t recognized, he could enjoy their talks, into which he was occasionally drawn for opinion. Tarn was its usual, industrious, smog-filled and busy self and Mirage was glad to leave it soon on the train that was nearly empty and arrived to Thrax in a short joor. The address he got was at the edge of the town, so Mirage transformed and drove out, passing sparse buildings and a few mechs… it was truly a small, quaint town, which was a novelty for the Iacon-born and raised noblemech. 

The actual place where he arrived after the pleasant drive though… it was strange. A fairly big, but low-slung building with thick walls and small windows – it looked like it had a previous life as a defense bunker and may even saw actual fighting. There were even some marks of fire or explosions on the walls by some of the windows and if they were from actual wars, then… Mirage tried to remember his studies about the last war sweeping this area… and came up empty. Even if it was his memory being faulty, why wasn’t the building repaired after such a long time? And why would a scientist – and engineer to be precise – be living in it?

But no matter that. Mirage recognized that he was stalling somewhat and collected his wits about him. With some search he found an announcer button set near to a door, pressed it… and waited. After a breem he pressed the button again and after the third time he frowned. Was this Wheeljack mech not at home when he promised to be…? But before he could ring the fourth time or comm the mech, the door suddenly opened up, like yanked open from inside. Mirage swallowed, nerves somewhat catching up with him now.

“Yes?”

The mech standing in the doorway looked like he came straight from a disaster area. Mostly white plating was liberally smeared by soot, leaving the red and green highlights barely visible; above it a fully masked face was nearly unrecognizable by the same material and in his left servo he held a blackened… contraption that appeared to be fused to his digits. 

Mirage blinked. His vocalizer appeared to be stuck.

“Are you that Mirage mech, who called last orn?” The flashing indicators framing the smeared facemask and the blue optics flickered cheerfully. “Have I promised you to fabricate something or…?”

Mirage blinked again and tried to collect his wits. He never before got caught unable to say anything. Never in the trickiest situations among his fellow nobles, that is.

“I… I sent you a message…? Are you Wheeljack?”

“Yup, m’mech, that’s me. So which one is it? Have I forgotten what you ordered already or have you just come to have something from me? Both happens frequently, so no problem. I’ll have it ready as soon as…”

“No! No, I… didn’t come here for… business reasons.”

In fact Mirage was strongly considering turning back, going home and profusely apologize to his Sire. 

“No?” Wheeljack looked bemused. “I’m afraid I don’t get a lot of social calls, so… well, I apologize for my appearance. Umm. Come in then and you can tell me what you did come for then.”

He stood aside from the doorway and Mirage – after a few, uncomfortably long kliks of hesitation – stepped in. His host – _mentor?_ Mirage wasn’t sure of anything any more – led him into a room and started to throw down things and boxes from a battered sofa and apologizing for the clutter, while Mirage looked around shocked. He had been to a few of his former schoolmates’ houses that were not palaces. He thought he knew how simpler mechs lived. But this… this one was not as much a home as a disaster area. Clutter was really a very mild thing to describe it. Every horizontal surface was packed in heaps with various datapads, mysterious boxes and dozens of special tools, lengths and spools of wires, crystal shards, pieces of platings, cubes, plates and other things the noblemech did not care to find out the name or function of. 

“Come, sit! I’m sorry for the mess. I rarely get any guests…”

Mirage glanced at the newly revealed sofa and his optics narrowed at the sight. The battered piece of furniture might have seen all the past ages of Cybertron for all he could judge its age. He seriously considered leaving… but for all his outward calmness, Mirage has started to heat up and become… needy. If he left now… that wouldn’t be comfortable at all. 

“What was your designation again…?”

“I am Mirage, First Heir of the House Shining Sky.”

“Ohh… an actual noblemech then? How surprising. I don’t think I’ve ever entertained a noble in my humble abode. I’m even more curious as to the reason for your visit.”

“Have you not received the notification about me, then?”

The strange, jutting, coloured audials flashed purple once, twice, but in the end Wheeljack shook his helm.

“Can’t say I have. About what?”

“That you’ve been drawn as a mentor!” Mirage was getting angry – partly at the obtuse mech, partly at himself for not listening to his Sire. “My mentor!”

“A men… me?”

Blue optics widened over the mask covering his lower face and small winglets rose behind his shoulders. 

“Me, a mentor? Are you… sure of this…? I admit I was kinda busy lately and I didn’t check my messages, but… umm, let me just find it…”

Wheeljack started to rummage at another heaped table and after throwing down a few things he unearthed a communications console – and old type one, generously modified and re-wired for whatever reasons. A few generous hits to its side and its screen bloomed to life and Wheeljack started to type. Mirage noticed with some shock that the scientist still had the small contraption fused into his left servo and it apparently didn’t disturb him at all. He had to be the strangest, queerest, oddest - and dirtiest too - mech, the young noble has ever met with – and not in a good way either. 

“Ahh… there it is! Well. I’m amazed really. I’ve only been a mentor once, a long time ago, so… it’s almost as new to me, as it is to you… to you… umm… yeah, Mirage.” 

“I… it might be for the best if I… leave then…?”

“Why would you?” Wheeljack stood up and stared at Mirage mischievously. “I assure you that I do understand what a mentor is and I am fully functional, so… I guess we’ve got off to a bad start and it’s all my fault. It usually is, so no problem. I can see that you’re uncomfortable in my humble abode. I tend to forget cleaning and tidying and I always have a lot of projects so… I guess it’s not like your high and mighty palace, ehh?”

Mirage tried to reciprocate the unseen smile that he clearly heard from the mech’s tone, he really did. But the situation was still so off-putting that he couldn’t.

“It… definitely is very… down-to-cybertron...”

“Well, I don’t have servants to clean it up and tidy, and actually I wouldn’t let anymech else touch my experiments, for their own sake. As you can see some of them are… explosive.”

“You don’t… mind that thing, in your servo…?” Mirage pointed out the fused-melted thing that occupied one servo still and Wheeljack glanced down too, somewhat surprised.

“Goodness me, I forgot it! Sorry ‘bout that too, it must look strange. Just a klik… have a seat while I’ll pry it off.”

Before Mirage could answer him, the mech was out of the door, leaving him alone. Mirage debated the merits of leaving or staying, with the latter winning just barely…


	2. Strange Night

Mirage gingerly lowered himself onto the rickety sofa and tried to be as nonchalant and relaxed as his host… _mentor_? It was still strange to imagine the mech in that role… while Wheeljack left the room and Mirage could only hear occasional noises from deeper in the house – clangs, hisses, running solvent and some indistinct muttering. He waited for several breems as the noises became quieter and Wheeljack didn’t return. Mirage wasn’t sure if he has already forgotten about him or the servo-repair was taking this long, but he started to have second, then third and even fourth thoughts of the situation. Much as he hated it, his Sire might have been right in this instance. He had just about decided to quietly get up and leave when the green and white mech appeared through another doorway and stared at him surprised.

“You are still here…!” And then he slapped a palm onto his face and exclaimed loudly. “I’m sorry, that came out really rude! I just… I had an idea and just had to jot it down and… I guess I forgot?”

Well, at least he had cleaned up a bit first and had his servo put to rights. He didn’t even look half bad now with mostly clean plating that showed his frame and alt mode to advantage. Still, Mirage scowled at the rudeness and decided to put a pede down.

“I am still here, but if you don’t decide to focus on _me_ soon, I will leave. It is not what I have expected and frankly not what I want either.”

“Okay, I guess you’re right in that.” The vocal indicators toned down to light green and small winglets Mirage hadn’t noticed before drooped on his back. “I am sorry. I’m an inventor with several idea at any given time and mechs do say that I’m scatterprocessored, but I will try to put aside all that and focus on you. After all, it is my duty and you don’t deserve my… worst.”

He came into the room fully and angled towards the sofa with Mirage – but halfway there he turned and from a cabinet he pulled out a bottle of energon and two thankfully clean cubes. 

“A drink? You must have travelled long to get here.”

“It was a long journey.” Mirage nodded and accepted the cube and let his host fill it with high-grade. He thought that at least energon usually got better with age and some high grade would help a lot for both their attitudes. Hopefully.

“We don’t get many visitors from Iacon.” Wheeljack nodded agreeably. “What do you do… ohh, I’m sorry. You’re a noble, of course.”

Mirage thought that he detected a little… frostiness in the mech’s tone when he said noble but ignored it.

“I work in the clan company board.”

“Oh yes, making credits. I understand.”

Mirage frowned.

“Everyone is working for credits. It’s needed to get by, as I’m sure you know as well.”

“Sure, sure.” Yellow flashed by the inscrutable facemask and faded into greenish and Mirage wondered what the colours might mean. “Though your idea of getting by and mine might differ just… a bit.”

Mirage glanced around and lifted a brow plate. Maybe his own lifestyle was too luxurious, but he’d rather take disapproval for it than this… mess. It couldn’t truthfully be called a home, it was more like a busy lab or an impromptu workplace. Or both. A messy one at that. 

“Obviously. And what do you do?”

“I invent things.” Mirage started on deciphering the strange colour-flashes. This one was definitely a happy purple. “Some of them work and I sell them, some not and I tinker with those more.”

“I heard that you’re an… engineer.”

“Exactly. But I don’t touch mechs’ frames! My field is nonsentient machinery. The military buys a lot of my inventions.”

“Because they explode…?”

Mirage knew that he was being rude, but the mech deserved it. Though he didn’t seem to take offense – the indicators still flickered in the purple range.

“A lot of them do that for sure! What can I say, I have a penchant for machinery behaving violently.”

He even laughed. Mirage stared. This mech was incomprehensible. But in a way… it was becoming of him. He gulped down some more from his cube and absentmindedly noted that it was a very good quality, nice, smooth high grade. Something he didn’t expect to find here, after the first, disastrous introduction, but helped to put his processor to ease.

“And you… don’t mind it?”

Wheeljack waved nonchalantly about his frame. It was a nice frame for what he was doing, Mirage noted. A fast car of some description, even with the obviously heavier than usual plating. Though nothing like his own refined, elegant lines, but not bad either. If he left the state of his flaking paintjob out of the judging…

“I’m built to take it. Also, I’ve been rebuilt more times than I care to remember. It’s part of the job. Invention comes with a cost and I like the servos on approach.”

“As I saw it when I came.” Fortunately the high-grade was making him loosen up a bit, so Mirage could even chuckle at the image he remembered.

“Oh that? That was just a tiny thing that melted down, because I connected two wires wrong. It happens often, I’m afraid.”

“But why would you not be more… careful?” Mirage just didn’t get it. He always checked everything twice and his work was not even explosive, for Primus’s sake!

But Wheeljack just shrugged nonchalantly and his colours remained in the good-mood purplish blue shade. 

“I always have a lot on my processor. Try juggling a dozen new ideas at a time, knowing that if you forgot one, it’ll never come back. Creative process is rarely orderly in my experience. An accident or two is a price I’m happily paying for it.”

“I wouldn’t know about that.”

The blue optics over the mask studied him carefully and the indicators shifted into blue as well. Mirage shifted where he sat. Those optics… they looked like staring into his spark… but it must have been the high grade making him think of such nonsense!

“No, you don’t really look like the type. You probably excel at what you learned and do but never go outside the box. Am I right?”

Mirage nodded silently. Creativity was not encouraged as far as he remembered his younglinghood, except occasionally at the school. Following rules and traditions was what he was always told by his Sire and of course to excel in his studies. Though he dabbled with painting a bit and music… but they were just studies, like history or mathematics. He had learned the techniques and – reproduced others’ art. Nothing of it was… creative.

“It’s never too late to think outside the boxes, and creativity – though I admit it’s sometimes a messy process - is a way to truly achieve something.” Wheeljack, for the first time since they met, actually sounded the older, more experienced mech to Mirage and his words wisdom instead of incomprehensible silliness. Even if what he said went against what Mirage was taught.

“My Sire… never said that. I think he doesn’t like creativity. He’s very conservative. Traditionalist.”

“Nobles often are.” Wheeljack paused for a klik, helm nodding to the side. “But you are not fully content with that lot, are you?”

Indignation warred in Mirage with a wish to open up. Who was this mech so he could trust him with shapeless yearning, with secret wishes, with never-voiced dreams? Why should he? Some of it must have showed on his face, because Wheeljack continued to speak, shockingly answering to his unspoken doubts.

“I’m your mentor. I’m also a complete nobody who won’t run to the media with what he’s discovered about a young heir of a dynasty. You can be honest with me… and it’ll help you to be honest with yourself.”

Mirage gulped down the rest of his cube, seeking fortification in the drink. Why not trust a complete stranger, indeed. A loaded question. It was… illogical, but in a way also sensible. One should trust one’s mentor. Whatever class they belonged to, whatever mech they were, it was just… normal. And if Mirage was honest with himself, he wanted to as well. Oh yes, he wanted to. After all he didn’t have friends to trust, so… why not a stranger? 

“I miss the school.” He spoke nearly in a whisper, but a flash of blue told him that he was heard and encouraged him to continue. “I felt… normal there. I like my life, my comforts, it’s not that… but it’s also stifling and empty. Even the work. It’s not what I would like to do, it’s just… what’s expected of me. I’m good at it, I do it well, but I crave more… even though I’m not sure what.”

“Have you ever thought of what you would like to do?”

Mirage stared into his empty cube. It was filled up again, startling him as he noticed how closer Wheeljack was now, how their fields overlapped. High grade was also starting to buzz in his processor, not so much as to interfere with thinking and talking yet, but it smoothed out his field and emotions. Mirage shifted and twisted sideways, lifted his pedes up on the sofa and when it brought him closer to Wheeljack, he didn’t straighten up and sit properly. Leaning against the other mech felt natural. It was like a small rebellion what he couldn’t do at home with the expensive sofas, sensitive materials… and disapproving relatives.

“I would love to travel. See other worlds, other races… other lifestyles. Going home in the end, because I need that too. But I rarely get it. It’s strange… we are rich, we have the means to travel, time, opportunities, everything – and we don’t do it, except on business trips.”

“That’s a pity. I don’t travel much, because of my work, but I do understand the allure of it.”

A warm arm curled around his shoulders and Mirage froze for a klik. Nomech touched him this way for… ages. Most didn’t dare to… but many, his family just wouldn’t embrace him because it was not _proper_. But it was nice. He burrowed deeper into the embrace, letting their plating touch, luxuriating in its electric, warm and suffusing feel, floating on the high grade haze. It was liberating to have a soft, supporting field around him and strong arms embracing him. Almost like… family. The kind of family his school-friends had, not his own. 

“I’ve never been a mech for sciences. I learned what I had to but it’s not my field. But I like to observe mechs. How they act, how they react. What they do and say – and what they mean by it. Motivations and attitudes. Things like that. My Sire called it snooping and disapproved of it heavily… but I didn’t mean anything bad by it!”

“I believe you. Lots of people observe others for entirely acceptable reasons. Psychologists. Sociologists. Priests. Politicians and diplomats. Umm…”

Wheeljack waved into the air, like running out of words, but Mirage understood him. They smiled at each other, sideways and shyly but it was there. 

“Yes, I know. If I wasn’t the Heir, I could have been a priest. Or a diplomat. They are both acceptable professions. But since I am the Heir…”

“I see. Well. That makes it harder, I guess. But indulge me… why can’t the heir be a, say diplomat?”

The servo on his shoulder started to gently stroke his plating and it began to interrupt his thoughts with the way it excited his sensors, which thought it was a fabulous idea. Especially when it reached up to the flared part of his helm, where the slats were oh-so sensitive…

“I… uhh. It’s… I’m not sure. Maybe because it’s too much like… a job?”

It was natural to lean his helm into the petting servo. It felt good. More than good. Amazing.

“But you said that you worked on the company board. Isn’t that work too?”

“Working for the c-clan is… mmmm… not like working for others.”

Mirage gulped down the rest of his high-grade so he could put down the cube which felt precarious in his servo. He nearly set it down beside the table too, making him blush. Wheeljack laughed gently.

“Oh dear. You’re not used to strong energon? I swear it wasn’t my intention to get you drunk.”

“You still… managed it.”

Mirage complained back but actually he felt better than for a long time. He wasn’t really drunk, the wonderful petting was doing more to disrupt his coordination than the energon, and he felt really comfortable and nice. Wheeljack didn’t stop stroking his helm vents, his field enveloped him safely, warmly and gently and he was pretty comfortable too, nestled at the inventor’s side. 

“I can help you to burn off the excess charge.”

“Yes… yes, please!” Because even half drunk and heat licking his cables, Mirage was polite to the fault. Wheeljack laughed easily, stood and lifted Mirage up in a sudden motion that bespoke of strength and not a little of it. Mirage put up an arched brow and whistled. 

“I know a better place for that than this sofa which might just dump us to the ground any klik.”

Mirage was still startled a bit by the sudden movement, so he naturally had to hold onto the strong shoulders. It brought his face close to Wheeljack’s mask which smelled faintly of fire and burnt metal over the harsher tang of solvents. He slid a digit over the sectioned parts of it curiously.

“Do you wear this mask all the time?”

He was carried through another room, even more cluttered than the first, a short connecting corridor and into what was unmistakably a berthroom. It was also the tidiest he had seen so far from the house, which calmed Mirage quite a bit. He hated messes, his own and others’ as well and a clean, organized, well, mostly because it was empty, room went a long way to make him feel better. Wheeljack answered after a tiny pause and his indicators shifted to light pink.

“Most of the time, yes.” He gently set down Mirage and sat beside him on the smooth covers. “I had a few unfortunate accidents as a youth and some has left permanents scars. Since I continue to live dangerously I got used to wearing it all the time.”

“I’m… sorry to mention it then…” But he was also curious. Scars in this era and medical science were rare, especially on a nonmilitary mech. And they were also heavily romanticized in fictional romantic literature, which Mirage definitely didn’t read. At least not where somemech could find it out. 

“It’s okay. I’m not self-conscious about them. But I rarely take the mask off.”

Mirage stretched languidly on the soft covers and noted the suddenly brighter light in those blue optics with satisfaction. He knew he was beautiful and gladly reaped the admiring look.

“I hold out hope that you would. Kissing is said to be… good.”

Wheeljack laughed and leaned over him. Vocal indicators flickered in rhythm with his laugh, captivating Mirage’s attention. The tiny flashes of colours run from helm towards the edges and disappeared there with a… it looked almost like a flourish? They were definitely strange – but unique too. 

“Now, how can I say no to something like that? It would be criminally negligent from me as a mentor not to teach you proper kissing.”

Mirage laughed and arched a little on the berth cover. It earned him another long look and the blue in Wheeljack’s optics and indicators both brightened considerably. Then the bands of the facemask slid apart slowly… and Mirage watched eagerly, almost impolitely curious. The face that got revealed didn’t look bad at first sight… but then Mirage noticed that some of the lines he took for seams, were actually scar-lines. Not very deep, not jagged or unseemly… but they were there. And they did bracket a rather good-looking mouth…

“They’re not that interesting. Not even battle scars.”

The voice was also richer now with the mask not absorbing some of the harmonics of the tone – and closer to him too, Mirage noted, he felt the faint exvent that still had a touch of high-grade in it, from the lips that slightly opened and grazed lightly on his own. Automatically his glossa slid out and wet his… their lips. It garnered a tiny chuckle from Wheeljack and his lips touched Mirage firmer, trapping his questing glossa between them, tugging it gently. Tingling heat and softness greeted him, called him to play along – and Mirage did. Glossa chased the moving lips, then discovered its counterpart as the kiss deepened and soon his core temperature started to rise sharply. 

Mirage moaned deep and it was literally swallowed by the other’s mouth, greeted by an answering groan and Wheeljack moved over him, propped up on servos but blanketing Mirage more now, their platings touched and slid and warmed and electricity arced between plates where their various kibble didn’t quite fit as it slid over one another… he reached up with a shaky servo to discover the small winglets that looked almost like his own spoiler, to see if they were just as sensitive as his…

“No, they are… not.” Wheeljack stopped the kiss just so long as to answer him and his voice was pretty breathless. “I can’t afford them to.”

Mirage pouted.

“In my profession…” Wheeljack continued answering him with some reluctance – “…I can’t afford a sensitive frame.”

“Nowhere…?” Mirage tried the usual seams and headlights but to no avail. Wheeljack laughed at him and his servos found plenty of spots on his frame that he could use to stoke his fire. Not that it needed a lot of stoking by now…

“Well. I’ll show you a few later, but for now, allow me to find yours.”

Mirage conceded defeat – but it was the most pleasurable defeat he ever had the fortune experiencing. Wheeljack’s digits were a little bit rough but they certainly knew what they were doing. Slowly but surely the young noblemech was reduced to a slowly melting puddle of moaning and writhing jelly with no self-controll whatsoever, that Mirage would find unseemly in any other time… if it wasn’t so slagging amazing. And Wheeljack hasn’t even touched his rapidly heating panel, no, he so far kept to meticulously discovering Mirage’s frame thoroughly. Very thoroughly. No sensitive seam remained undiscovered, no sensors unexcited, no plates unstroked… even the smallest details got undivided attention. 

“You have a beautiful frame, Mirage. It deserves the attention.”

Mirage tried to answer, he really did. But the sound came out of his vocalizer as a moan when yet another sensor fired its exulting message to his processor and disrupted whatever he had tried to say. 

“I’m sure that you know, but I still want to say it.” Wheeljack whispered into his audial and licked – licked! – his vent slats. Mirage gasped a sudden invent is surprise. That was… something else!

“P-ple…ase…!”

He wasn’t sure what he was begging for. He had known, he had read about it… but right here and now he forgot everything. Only those digits and glossa and frame existed that played something amazing on his frame. No coherent thoughts existed any more. He was floating in an ocean of hot, electric pleasure, each touch and stroke making him writhe and moan and his heat rise to unheard of heights. It was nearly unbearable, it was so good. It was so pleasurable it almost bordered on pain. The sensations were so strong, Mirage’s processor, the tiny part that still could, nearly wanted to back off, to cry that it was too strong, too much, too… too… TOOO…

A soft, gentle touch inside his panel – and just when did it open on itself? – and it was enough for Mirage to lose it completely and fall headlong into overload. It was just the slightest of touches, a single digit gently circling his spike seal, but in the heightened state of sensations Mirage was floating in, it was more than enough. His spike pressurized through the weakened seal, tearing it neatly in half and erupted immediately. 

“Aaaaaaahhhh…!”

Ohh, it was so sweet and satisfying to finally get a fulfillment, to crest those too strong, too pleasurable, too good sensations and get a reward in itself in the act too! Mirage couldn’t say, certainly not then and not even later which part was better – the seemingly neverendingly rising spiral of pleasure that carried him to previously unknown heights… or the so sweet, so fulfilling, so amazing overload that ended all those and provided an outlet for his charge. 

“There, there… you all right?”

Mirage twitched. The touch now, after the overload was almost… unwanted. Everything in his frame felt too sensitive, too raw, almost painful after that surge of energy – much as it was amazingly great, he still didn’t want another touch just yet. Wheeljack appeared to read him well again, because the gentle stroke of his servo disappeared, though his field remained close.

“t-tooo…” - he still couldn’t speak properly and Mirage felt a sudden shame for that – “…m-much…”

“Hey, it’s okay. A lot of mechs are sensitive after the first overload. Give your sensory net a breem or so to reset. It’ll go better next time.”

“I…” He winced at the unpleasant sound of his own vocalizer and shut up.

“Nah, don’t force your vocalizer either. Just nod if you’re okay.”

Mirage nodded, because he started feel all right now that Wheeljack wasn’t touching him. His sensory net, true to the promise, has started to flatten back its figurative bristles too and calm down. In a few kliks he was feeling good again, discovering what the phrase ‘floating in overload bliss’ meant in his studies… because it had to be that.

“’m okay…” his vocalizer still wasn’t hundred per cent, but it was working now with no feedback screech at least.

“I’m glad to hear that.” The smile was there again in the sound of his voice and this time Mirage saw it too. It was a nice mouth with a nice smile he decided, even with the scars. “Are you tired?”

Come to think of it, he was pretty tired. But the tired feeling warred in Mirage with the expectation of finishing his initiation, the seal breaking and all that… and he said so.

“No need to hurry it. We don’t have a schedule. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“B-but…”

“You should trust your instincts more, Mirage. If a nap feels inviting right now, then a nap is what you should take. There are, there should be no expectations and duties in interfacing. Just what feels good and feels right.”

Mirage blinked. A nap sounded just perfect now, but… right in the middle of the interface? It still felt faintly… wrong, despite of Wheeljack’s assurances. But even as he tried to think a counterargument, his frame decided the matter for him. When a black servo cautiously stroked his helm it felt good again and deep somewhere in his abdomen a knot of worry he hadn’t even realized was there unraveled. The long day and its experiences caught up with him and the overload just sapped the energy and charge the high-grade provided him with temporarily. His limbs felt heavy and though not oversensitive any more, the soft mesh blanket settled on him was welcome. 

Just like the strong field enveloping him and the gentle, slow strokes of a servo that soothed his thoughts and swayed him into recharge.


	3. Fun Night

Wheeljack watched the young mech in his arms slowly power down. He felt the arousal, the charge from getting him off, but it was manageable yet, not even needing self-service. Besides he could always shunt some of it to other systems, putting it to good use. Much as he said he didn’t tinker with mechs’ frames, and it was true as well - but he had always considered his own an exception from that rule. His processor was strangely empty and calm without the usual processes running concurrently, parallel and sometimes competingly within its vast landscape. He had to shut them all down, shunt them to the background, because he knew he could never focus on this young mech properly if he didn’t. That first – and so far last – time he was drawn as mentor had taught him this much. Wheeljack knew he wasn’t good at focusing on one thing for any length of time, it was a quirk, or as some medics used to say, a glitch of his processors, irreparable and unavoidable – but manageable if he utilized the failsafe that temporarily corralled his processors.

It required a serious mental effort to shut down all his complex thought-streams and not let his processor stray even close to them while he focused on one thing. Even now… Wheeljack felt the failsafe ruthlessly shunting the dancing blueprints and half-formed ideas that came up at the edge of his mindscape into the specifically built memory unit. It was always hard to go over them later, they were cold and removed, unlike when he experienced them real-time… but it let him focus at all, allowed him to function in society, imitating how other mechs acted seemingly naturally. More or less. It was still forced, unnatural, he knew it, but he got better at it over the vorns. He was still considered queer, scatterprocessored, antisocial, sometimes even mad by some mechs, but at least the shrinks declared that he wasn’t glitched and could be living and working like everyone else.

Wheeljack himself didn’t think himself queer or glitched. To him everymech else was strange with their linear, cause-and-effect thinking and all that social nonsense. True, he had a lot more accidents, both work- and functioning-related than others, but he knew for a fact that other accident-prone mecha existed who were otherwise considered normal and totally unlike him. And his inventions, though looked down on by scientists, were useful and sought in the military. Wheeljack never cared much about others’ opinions of himself, not when he could happily immerse himself into his chaotic thoughts and shut out the world. Only at times like this, when those were absent, he thought about himself like how another mech saw him.

He knew that Mirage was right to be angry at first. He was very rude to the young mech, even playing it up intentionally – he was hoping that the bothersome visitor would go away and ask for a new mentor. A noblemech and him? What were the matching computers thinking? It was no secret what opinion he held about that particular class. Useless, every one of them, just a burden on society, hanging onto the remains of their prerogatives with denta and claw, looking down on mechs who were not a single bit lesser than them. Usually better. Chrystal City Academy was very strict and stringent about enforcing equality among all its students and still, some of the nobles attending his classes gave his younger self a very hard time. Mirage, at first sight as he was standing in his door, all shiny with subtle gemstones and filigrees on his expensive plating and a haughty expression on his chiseled faceplates was achingly similar to those young scions who had mocked everything from his poor paintjob till his social awkwardness, and he had brought back memories Wheeljack hadn’t been thinking of for megavorns. Nor did he want to.

Still… the young mech persisted, despite his best efforts to turn him away. Wheeljack realized also how unusual it was that Mirage sought him out in person, travelled to his more than humble home and stayed, despite of the state of his rooms that visibly shocked him, his impolite behaviour, willing to talk to him and accept him as mentor. He was not only open-processored, lacking prejudices, but also intelligent and… shy. Wheeljack recognized this last with a flash of familiarity that almost ached. There was one just as alone even among his peers as he used to be… as he still was. Mirage was hiding it a lot better than himself, but Wheeljack could recognize learned, rote behaviour better than anymech else. It was what he did most the time, after all. 

Once realizing this, Wheeljack decided to give the young mech a chance – and it worked far better than he could ever imagine. The Mirage behind the noble exterior was sweet and trusting, shy but opening up to him, letting him pleasure his frame and encourage his mind… and all he had to do were slight nudges into the right direction. And focus on him, of course. But even that was not as great an effort as usual. Wheeljack admitted to himself that he needed a little break from his overactive processing methods from time to time, and it came as a good opportunity now. Also… it wasn’t hard to admire the beautiful lines of the young mech, to touch him and pleasure him, not when he reacted to it so trustingly and strongly.

Mirage sighed and moved in his arms, his field also flickering as he rose towards wakefulness from his shallow, short nap. Clear cobalt-blue optics opened to a crack, then blinked online, flickering a little as he woke up fully. His field was mellow and friendly with a touch of his earlier arousal lingering in it. 

“Hello. Nice nap?”

And he stretched that slender, beautifully crafted frame like a wire-kitten and Wheeljack smiled. No, it wasn’t hard to like this young noble at all.

“It was, thank you.”

A tiny oddness flickered in Mirage’s field and his glance became thoughtful.

“What is it?”

“I’ve… never slept in… somemech’s arms.” But he didn’t draw away. 

“Never? But I thought you were… a born mech, were you not? With Creators and relatives and all that…?”

“I am. But my creators never held me like this. Too much touching is… not proper.”

Wheeljack shook his helm. Poor thing. Even the lowest, brutest cold construct mechs formed clades and knew the importance of physical contact. Snuggling as youngsters, embracing as adults, simple touches all through the orns of work… contact was simply necessary for a healthy meta. Trust nobles to declare the most important aspect of their functioning as _improper_ …

“That’s slag. We all need touching. If not your Creators, then your friends. You do have friends?”

“I do. But not this way.” He motioned over their frames as they lay cuddled together and Wheeljack nodded.

“Not yet. But after this you can find your lovers, that’s not like… improper or something?”

Mirage shook his helm and smiled slightly. 

“No, it’s all right… so far as I don’t make a scandal.” He grimaced a little and continued in a less cheerful tone. “I’ve had more lessons in what’s proper and what’s not than the actual act itself.”

Wheeljack also shook his helm sadly and a bit disapprovingly. 

“I think you are intelligent enough to pick your own partners. And all this _properness_ sound a load of pitslag to me.”

Mirage lifted a brow plate at the swearword, but answered anyway.

“Being proper is the most important in my family. In any noble family in fact.”

“But why? A lot of what you said to be proper is actually bad for you. Like this not-touching nonsense. Mechs need touching, it’s… it’s just the way we are!”

The young mech shrugged, his expression a bit quizzical. 

“I don’t know… I’ve never thought of it really.”

Wheeljack hesitated for a klik, not wanting to be rude to Mirage now… but in the end he still spoke up.

“I think… maybe because without these stupid social rules, nobles would be just the same as, well, us.”

Mirage didn’t look offended. In act he was smiling and snickered at his drawn brow-plates.

“Sure. It’s just… appearances, I know. But appearances are the only thing that remained for our caste, so we kind of… sticking to them.”

Wheeljack shook his helm bemused. If he functioned for a million vorns he would still not understand nobles. 

“Even when it’s… wrong?”

“It’s not wrong, per se. You see, I’m the only one among my peers who even notices such things. So it must be me who is different. Maybe I was secretly adopted.”

Wheeljack wasn’t the most adept at detecting wry humor, but he was fairly sure that the last sentence was said as such. 

“Ohh, I don’t think so. When I opened the door last orn and saw you standing there, I didn’t know who you were – but I was a hundred percent sure that you were a noble. You’re practically the embodiment of your caste.”

“In a good way, or a bad one?”

Wheeljack laughed with him and planted a kiss onto smiling lips. 

“The best way.” He continued between pecking kisses. “You continue to ruin my prejudices.”

“You continue to ruin _me_.” Mirage answered cheekily while he reacted eagerly to the kisses and his frame undulated in Wheeljack’s arms, warming up again, field suffusing again with eagerness and lust. “I just return it…”

“I hope that’s in the best way too…” He continued to stroke the elegantly crafted frame and the subtly inset gems and kiss him between words that started to become ragged. His own unspent charge was returning again too and Mirage was definitely heating up too.

“Definitely. Ahhhh…” 

Wheeljack shifted over Mirage’s slighter frame and reached down to test his readiness. A scarred digit dipped between trembling folds and Mirage vented deeply, spreading long legs wider. His array was heating rapidly, the blue filigreed spike pressurized again – and Wheeljack felt the first droplets of lubricant sliding out from the valve. He teased the rim for a few kliks, spreading the wetness around before dipping inside. The seal was right there, allowing him no further – and its surface barely yielding to the testing pressure of his digits. 

“I think… I think your seal is quite thick…”

Wheeljack was about to continue when his questing digit encountered something… that shouldn’t be on a seal. It was getting hard to think clearly, but the raised bumps his digit-tip slid over were decidedly strange. 

“… and I don’t know what these are. I hope… I hope it’s not a… medical condition I know nothing of.”

Bright blue optics narrowed as Mirage stared at him, probably focusing inwardly to see what he was talking about and his writhing frame stilled under him. Then suddenly they widened again and he exclaimed loudly.

“Ohh those! Just some small gems inset in the seal.” Like it was natural to have any such.

Wheeljack’s proccesor froze along with his digit, touching tentatively one of those bumps. Its hard, faceted surface attested to Mirage’s words. Still he had to ask back.

“Gemstones? Crystals in there?”

He just couldn’t understand the reason for it. Expensive decoration where nomech would ever see them, not before and certainly not once the seal got broken. Making the seal harden and more painful to break.

“Yes, well…” Mirage blushed a bit, but apparently he still didn’t get Wheeljack’s incredulity. “They were a fad awhile back. My Sire encouraged me to have it done… in case the Prime… you know…” His voice faded away into an embarrassed white noise.

Wheeljack still couldn’t answer, just shook his helm incredulously. To him it was all the idiocy of nobles bundled into one neat package. Besides making his job harder and causing Mirage to suffer.

“I just… well, I couldn’t… well. Quite aside the sheer absurdity of it… it will hurt you. I mean, more than it should.”

“Really?” Mirage frowned and doubt flickered in cobalt optics. “They never told me that.”

“Well, I don’t want to frighten you, but it’s a definite possibility.”

While he answered, Wheeljack restarted his explorations and tested the seal again. His digit could barely press the supposedly flexible, rubberlike seal inward, it was just that rigid and thickened from the gemstones he kept discovering.

“I’m not sure about it being painful…” - Mirage invented heavily, his faceplates flushed with energon – “…they do feel… marvelous now!”

Wheeljack lifted a brow plate and experimentally stroked over several tiny gemstones a little firmer than before. Mirage nearly bowed up under him, lifting them both away from the berth surface. Deep moan broke his heavy invents as he gulped cooler air. This was completely new to the inventor. He had never heard any embellishments on valve seals for whatever reason – and also never knew that it could be this sensitive. Seals usually didn’t have any sensors, the only feeling of them came when the valve sensors registered its tearing away – and that wasn’t pleasant even when it didn’t hurt. But from how Mirage was reacting to his tentative explorations on the gems, it sure looked pleasurable!

Just to confirm his observations, a gush of lubricant was forced out by tensing thighs, dripping by his servo and moistening his folds. Wheeljack added another digit and applied a bit more pressure on the seal, pinging the imbedded gemstones like he would with sensory nodes. They sure reacted like those. 

“Ohh, Primus! More, please…!”

He was happy to oblige. Much as the sensitiveness baffled him – on an engineering level as well, he noted in the back of his processor, how to make solid crystals react like sensory nodes -, it was a good thing too, the plentiful lubricant soaking, slicking, softening the thick seal and making Mirage babble incomprehensible with heat and charge suffusing him, his lustful field whipping around him… so Wheeljack happily fingered him some more and drank in the way the young mech came undone with pleasure. 

He saw it as well when even that surprising and unexpected pleasure wasn’t enough, when calipers deeper in the valve twitched fretfully, wanting more inside than mere digits. Mirage was writhing in the berth covers, holding onto him and optics wide, bright and unfocused, he lifted his hips to get closer, to get more contact… and Wheeljack was more than happy to oblige. His spike was pretty glad to be released too, pressurizing immediately between them. He didn’t warn Mirage. It would have been hard to with how incoherent he was anyway, but he didn’t want him to tense in fear. The young mech was so pliant and relaxed under him, that Wheeljack replaced his digits immediately with his spike, giving him no time to lose the sensations… and thrust in with the exact force necessary to break the still formidable seal. 

“Owww…”

Of course it hurt. He knew that it would, no matter how good he had felt before. Mirage jolted and lurched, his grip on white-plated shoulders now tried to push him away… but Wheeljack held him steady, unmoving and flinched only inside. He didn’t like to cause pain, not this way and it was hard on him too. But it had to be done and it wasn’t like he caused the seal to break painfully… he panted too, holding himself still… Primus, his valve was so very tight, calipers gripping vice-like…

“It’s okay, calm down. It’ll pass soon. Just… relax.”

He stroked a helm vent while Mirage’s wheezing calmed a bit and his efforts to push him away subsided. Spasming calipers held his spike so tight still, it nearly hurt… but in a few kliks they too appeared to slacken somewhat and the painful flickers in his field softened.

“Hey… are you… okay?”

“It… did… hurt…” Mirage’s voice was barely understandable it was so suffused with static. But he nodded too and his calipers relaxed even more. 

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

He moved a little, circling his hips, testing how the young mech reacted. Mirage was still venting in great gulps, but he didn’t hiss now. Wheeljack slowly pushed forward. 

“’s okay…”

One more trust, a gentle one to hilt him and he bumped into the ceiling node. Cobalt optics widened suddenly, followed by a sparkfelt moan. The pain all but disappeared from his field.

“Liked that, ehh?”

Blue helm nodded breathlessly and he felt calipers move around him, urging and encouraging suddenly instead of the painful grip. The newly awakened valve was doing everything it could to intensify the pleasure and Wheeljack enjoyed the pit out of it.

“Yes!”

Wheeljack smirked, pulled out halfway and thrust back a little faster than before, looking out for signs of pain – but he found none any more. The sensations Mirage felt for the very first time apparently washed away the pain completely. Now satisfied that he was all right, Wheeljack relaxed his controll on his frame too and allowed himself to feel more, to let himself loose in the pleasure too. It was high time for him too. Nor did it take long to bring Mirage to the heights of pleasure again – barely a few thrusts and he was writhing in bliss again, pain completely forgotten, calipers clenching in rhythm now, unsure in their movement still, but enthusiastic none the less. 

“Ohhh… !”

Slender frame bowing up, away from the berth and Mirage shouted wordlessly as the spike bumped into his ceiling node again, the intense burst of pleasure enough finally to send him over. The young mech slumped back to the berth and panted heavily, optics glazed from the powerful overload. Wheeljack grunted as he thrust against spasming calipers, chasing his own overload now. With one arm gathering up the slender leg he changed the angle and it was what finally done it for him too. Mirage shouted yet again as transfluid burst into his still sensitive valve, sending him over, into a smaller overload again, while Wheeljack strained, held himself and threw his helm back, processor gloriously empty and swamped at the same time, seeing stars where none were, emptying himself into the virgin valve… 

“Ahh…”

And he slumped forward, barely catching himself on a shaky arm to avoid smothering Mirage with his greater weight, panting, wrung, empty and sated.

“Wow.” Still a bit unfocused, he glanced down at the young mech – and saw him smile back unguarded, unchecked, honest and happy… 

“Yeah… wow.” He smiled back and shifted to the side with some effort. 

“Mmmmm… that was amazing.” Mirage’s cultured voice was still breathy and panting, but he appeared to recover fast. “Even with the seal.”

“Couldn’t be helped. Hnnhhh… you’ll probably be sore next orn anyway.”

Mirage glanced at him questioningly. He appeared to feel content lying there in Wheeljack’s arms, which was still strange after their rocky start.

“It doesn’t hurt now.”

“It will. You are still high, so no pain signals.” Wheeljack huffed and took a few more deep, cooling invents. “But a seal that thick… must leave some lacerations. They should heal but… well, you’ll feel it next orn.”

Mirage nodded, accepting his words… but then he squirmed and his next groan was one of discomfort.

“What? Hurts already?”

“N-no…” Mirage squirmed again, and grimaced. “It’s… the mess.”

“Ohh…” - Wheeljack took care not to laugh – “well. Interfacing is messy.”

“I know! But… I want to get rid of it now.”

Glancing down, Wheeljack could understand. The earlier overload left its drying, flaking spots on bright blue and white plating and it was joined by the fresh, sticky transfluid, slick lubricant and paint transfers. A mess, just as Mirage said. One servo was hovering over his own plating, digits just dipped into the mixed fluids – and a look of definite disgust flashed over chiseled faceplates.

“Come then. My shower, I promise you is in a better condition than my living room.”

After a thorough shower they still sat down in said living room with a cube of energon and some treats Wheeljack swore on his spark that they were within their use by date – he made them about a decaorn ago, so the gel parts hardened a bit, but they were still definitely edible. Mirage nibbled on one contended and didn’t comment. The slight awkwardness was back between them, perhaps not as strong as an orn ago, but perceivable. They sat beside each other on the old sofa, but this time Mirage was sitting straight and proper… and only his hesitant glances at Wheeljack betrayed his youth and unsureness. Their stilted conversation – Wheeljack was out of his depth with small talk while Mirage didn’t seem interested in managing it – slowly turned to their earlier topic again and made the young mech appear animated again.

“So… what are you gonna do once you get back home? Back to your position, or try something new? Something you want to, something you would enjoy?”

Mirage sighed and his straight back struts seemed to slump a bit.

“I can’t just give everything up and go exploring. You just can’t imagine the scandal it would cause.”

Wheeljack shrugged. As far as he was concerned a scandal was… inconsequential. Maybe even funny.

“Is it so important what they think?”

Mirage nodded several times, empathically. 

“It is. It is everything.”

Wheeljack hummed.

“Weren’t they surprised… or even disapproving by you coming here? By me in particular?”

“Well… yes.”

“But you still came. Have you regretted it?”

Mirage looked up at him, optics wide. There was very little height difference between them, but at that klik, he looked his age. 

“No! I… I admit at first I wasn’t sure, I was even angry, but… no. I didn’t regret it.”

“Will they disapprove when you go back? Maybe even a scandal?”

“Probably… might be.”

“But you still did it. Why?”

Mirage remained silent for so long, Wheeljack thought he wouldn’t answer at all. They sat silently, sipping their energon, the slight gap between their frames staying firm now. Trust was there – but the gap was there too. They didn’t become friends, lovers, or anything like it from what happened during the night. But Mirage was honest when he spoke up in the end.

“It felt like… the right thing to do. And…” – Mirage glanced up and smirked very slightly – “I wanted to defy my Sire too.”

Wheeljack smirked right back.

“So you accept a little scandal… but not a big one, ehh?”

“I guess so. Even if I rebel against the expectations, I prefer to do it more… subtly.”

“Well, then.” Wheeljack waved cheerfully towards him. “There you are. You do what you want, how you want it. Now, or a vorn from now… doesn’t matter. What matters is that you know what you want and work towards it. You’re a good mech, Mirage. Your spark is in the right place. You’ll know what to do if you trust your instincts. Just like in interface.”

He laughed openly, lightening the conversation and Mirage’s lips drew to an answering smile first and then he laughed too, the unsureness disappearing from his field. They drank up their energon, exchanged personal comm frequencies and Mirage left at mid-orn to catch the train back to Iacon. Wheeljack closed the door behind him and with a sigh he let the memory cache pour the accumulated and stored ideas into his processor. Groaning, he set about making sense of them and apply those he was working on.

The young mech with the polished blue plating slowly sank into the back of the long-term memory unit – not forgotten, but archived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I made up some headcanon for Wheeljack that's not in any verse AFAIK. It's in regards to his unique thought process, that makes him such a great inventor - but also a socially awkward mech too. I hope it makes sense. I sort of tried to package ADHD and autism into one, and translate it to how it would work in a mech/processor. 
> 
> Also the idea of gemstones inset into the seal came from tainry's fic, the Open Circle. It seemed to me something nobles would do. :-)


End file.
